


A Matter of National Security

by DPPatricks



Series: "Starsky & Hutch" Continued [7]
Category: Starsky & Hutch
Genre: Angst, Happy Ending, M/M, Psychological Torture, mental torment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:34:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22423408
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DPPatricks/pseuds/DPPatricks
Summary: A normal Monday morning in Starsky and Hutch’s Cold Case Division opens the door to nightmares for both of them.
Relationships: Ken Hutchinson/David Starsky
Series: "Starsky & Hutch" Continued [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1706842
Comments: 12
Kudos: 21





	A Matter of National Security

**Author's Note:**

> My sincerest thanks to MariaPriest for her excellent suggestions and encouragement and to Greenlady for her additional insights. I’m indebted to both of you!

Dave Starsky woke up ready to fight. Having been put down from ambush, as he instantly remembered, his unconscious mind must have been waiting for him to come to before activating his normal response to deceit: anger, bordering on fury!

He rolled off whatever he was lying on, crouched, hands fisted into lethal weapons, and quickly scanned the room. About eight feet square with only one door and no windows, the walls were bare, painted a government gray. 

He stood up, his right hand lifting without conscious thought to the puncture wound in the side of his neck. _Dart, a damned dart. Why didn’t those DOD guys tell us about this? ‘Cause they probably didn’t know._ He glanced around again. _I must’ve been right when I said they didn’t know shit!_

Massaging the lingering ache, Starsky estimated the height of his cell to be at least ten feet. The rolled-frame cot he’d been lying on was bolted to the concrete floor with only a thin mattress on top; no bedding. There was a six-inch round hole in one corner of the floor that he assumed was intended to be a toilet but there was no paper.

One bulb in the center of the ceiling, behind wire mesh, lit the room. Small vents in the corners, higher than he could reach - or even jump - made him think they, whoever _they_ were - in addition to the bastard he and Hutch knew was behind all this - could probably gas him whenever they wanted. There was also undoubtedly a video camera and listening device behind at least one of the vents. 

_Military_ , Starsky thought. _Yep, just what Berthold and Cummings said. But they hadn’t mentioned the fact that me and Hutch wouldn’t be given any say in the way we’d be picked up, or how we’d be treated afterward. And, most importantly, where was Hutch?_

He had his clothes on, which was something, but it was cold in the room - felt like about fifty degrees. He zipped up his jacket, realizing that, of course, his gun and holster were gone, and his pockets were empty. As belligerently as possible, knowing someone was watching, he crossed his arms over his chest. Best to conserve his body heat for as long as he could.

He strode to the door. There was no knob on the inside and the small square at eye level had a slab of wood on the outside that he discovered was immovable. 

“Hutch! Huuuttchhhhhhh!” Starsky kicked the door and pounded on it. “Where’s my partner?” When no one responded, he kicked the door again, a little less strenuously. It was heavy-duty metal and wasn’t going to be much affected by an Adidas sneaker on breakable toes.

Starsky paced for what seemed like hours, stopping often to stare at the vents in the ceiling. When the silence finally got to him, he shouted at his unseen captors. “You ain’t gonna get away with this shit! We’re Bay City cops! You’ve kidnapped cops, for Pete’s sake.” 

Nothing happened and he paced again. He knew he was supposed to be acting totally confused but, in fact, the very little he did know wasn’t helping in the slightest at the moment. _And where’s Hutch?_

*******

After Ken Hutchinson regained consciousness, he went over his cell meticulously, deciding that he was under surveillance through the ceiling vents, and that the walls and door were impregnable. This wasn’t at all what he and Starsky thought they’d signed up for and his only option was to wait. He thought he’d heard his partner yelling his name, but he wasn’t sure. It did, however, give him hope that Starsky was very much alive. And raging. 

He sat on the cot, in lotus position, ignoring the slight pain he still felt in his neck, wanting whoever was watching to think he was meditating. He was, in a way. He knew that the human body could live for ten days to two weeks without food but only five days or so without water. He’d had a little experience with dehydration and his body was telling him he hadn’t drunk anything for quite a while. He tried not to think about how thirsty he was.

Instead, he concentrated on mentally replaying the conversations and actions that had begun on Monday morning and had, apparently, led to his and Starsky’s current situation.

TWO DAYS PREVIOUSLY

Hutch glanced at his phone when it rang and saw that it was the in-house line. He caught his partner’s eye before answering. “Hutchinson… Yes, sir, we’re both here…. All right, see you in a few minutes.” After he hung up, he responded to Starsky’s raised eyebrow. “Dobey’s on his way down.”

“Did it sound like a cuppa coffee visit?”

Hutch shrugged. “Couldn’t tell.”

Starsky got up, grabbed the coffee pot off the short row of filing cabinets, swirled the murky liquid inside, grimaced, and hurried into the hall.

Hutch tried to make less of a mess in the small office by stacking piles of folders into a more orderly arrangement. Starsky came back in with the carafe now full of water and began setting up the Mr. Coffee machine Dobey had given them when they’d moved into their Cold Case office.

By the time the pot was filling and Hutch had cleared some space on their back-to-back desks, a brief knock on the door preceded Dobey’s entrance. He didn’t stand on ceremony but drew the room’s only extra chair to the end of the tables and sat down.

“Coffee, Cap?” Starsky asked. “Be ready in a jiff.”

“Not right now, Starsky.” Dobey gestured to the chair on Starsky’s side of the tables as Hutch sat down on his own side. As soon as they were both seated, he studied each of them. “What _have_ you boys been up to?”

Hutch stared blankly at his partner and received an equally unknowing look in return. “Nothing except the usual, Captain, trying to solve cold cases.”

“I knew,” Dobey muttered, not looking at either of them, “when the chief gave you permission to continue working together after your…” a small smile quirked the corner of his mouth, “coming out party, it wasn’t going to calm things down around here.” He raised his eyes to Starsky. “What about you? Anything unusual?”

Starsky shook his head. 

Dobey sat back, unbuttoned his jacket and laced his fingers across his stomach. “I just had a very interesting meeting with two men who had credentials identifying them as agents of the Department of Defense.”

Hutch checked non-verbally with Starsky but, again, there was no clue, so he had to prod. “Go on, sir.”

“They informed me,” Dobey continued, “that I was to send you both down to an address in the South Bay City Industrial Park - I was to use my own reasons as to why you were to go there - where you would be… I think the word they used was ‘retrieved,’ and taken to an undisclosed site for… interviews.” He sat forward again and placed his tightly clasped hands on the table. “It was implied, or I inferred - whichever - that you’ve gotten yourselves into something that’s a matter of national security and the DOD wants to talk to you.”

Hutch didn’t like the sound of that at all and he could tell that his partner didn’t, either. However, before he was able to put their discomfort into words, Dobey raised his hand.

“They tried to swear me to secrecy, in the name of that supposed national security, and said you’d be returned, unharmed, within a matter of days - a week at the most - but that I wasn’t to say a word to anyone about why you weren’t in this office.”

“Captain,” Starsky said, hesitantly, “if you made a promise, should you be breaking it?”

Dobey’s up-to-now controlled anger surfaced. “You listen to me, Starsky! I’m a captain in this department with over two hundred sworn officers and civilians under my command. I _never_ throw someone under the bus without being positive that there’s no other choice.”

Hutch _really_ didn’t like the sound of this now. “Uh… throw us under the bus, Captain? What makes you say that?”

Dobey deflated a little. “I don’t honestly know, Hutch. I got bad vibes off these dudes and it’s shaken me a little.” He slapped a large hand on the table. “Two clowns show up in my office, without calling first I might add, claiming to be DOD - don’t tell me ID can’t be forged - rattling their federal swords and using double-speak. They order me to set you and your partner up and keep my mouth shut about it!” He stared at each of them. “I don’t know about you, but that makes my naturally suspicious nature raise its ugly head.”

Hutch realized Dobey had a couple of good points and nodded. 

Dobey turned his glare on Starsky. “You’ve had more experience with the military than Hutchinson or I have, Starsky. I thought you, at least, would be furious!”

Starsky got up slowly and walked the few paces to the coffee machine. “Oh, I am, Captain. Believe me, I am. That old ‘national security’ excuse has been used more times, and for more shady purposes, than you’d probably believe.”

While his partner poured three mugs of the fresh brew, Hutch made sure his voice didn’t betray his own unease. “What did you tell them, Captain?”

Starsky distributed the cups and sat back down. “I presume you did tell them something. You didn’t leave them sitting in your office.”

“Of course I didn't.” Without explaining further, Dobey picked up his mug and blew lightly on the surface before he took a swallow. With a glint in his eye, he almost smiled. “Must be the coffee maker. This is better than that stuff you used to brew in the squad room, Starsky.”

With the tension somewhat broken, Hutch took two cautious sips. “He’s right, Starsk. This is pretty darn good.” 

Starsky sent Hutch a pale version of his patented lop-sided smile before turning back to their captain. “I promise you, Cap’n, Hutch and I have done nothing to get the Department of Defense interested in us.” He put his cup down without drinking. “So, who are they really, and what do they want?”

Dobey lowered his mug, too. “I can’t even guess, Starsky, but I told them I needed time to think. They’re supposed to be back in my office at two o’clock.”

“That’s it?” Hutch was as surprised as Starsky looked. “They just went to get some lunch?”

“Tried to make me swear not to breathe a word about their visit,” Dobey replied, between gulps of the coffee he was definitely enjoying.

“And you said?” Starsky asked.

“I guess I hedged,” Dobey admitted. “Never did swear.”

Hutch took another swallow. “What now?”

“I suggest the three of us go upstairs and confront these individuals.” Dobey drank more before putting his mug down. “Good coffee, Starsky!”

*******

All Starsky’s finely tuned warning sensors were crackling as he followed Hutch and Dobey into the captain’s office. They’d stopped in the cafeteria and gotten sandwiches which they now ate, silently. He’d had no time to confer with his partner but it didn’t matter; they were instinctively on the same page: wait and see but be ready for anything.

Plastic wrap and napkins were being consigned to the wastebasket when a firm knock on the hallway door sounded. 

“Come in,” Dobey growled.

The door was opened and a tall, dark-haired, dark-suited, white-shirted, black-tied man entered. As soon as he saw Starsky and Hutch sitting in the guest chairs in front of Dobey’s desk, he stopped in his tracks. “You were _not_ to tell anyone, Captain Dobey!”

The second man, this one brown-haired but similarly dressed, pushed the first one in and shut the door. Starsky wondered - not for the first time - if all feds bought, or were issued their clothes from the same store. 

“You swore!” the second man hissed.

Dobey surged to his feet. “I did no such thing. I temporized, at best.” He straightened to his full height and puffed up his considerable bulk. Starsky had to admit their captain was an imposing figure when he wanted to be. “And if you think I’d send my men into a completely unknown situation without a better explanation than you gave me, you better believe I’d lie!”

Starsky kept the satisfaction he felt off his face as he rose, opened the squad room door and brought in two extra chairs. Placing them inside the hallway door, he closed the one to the squad room and sat back down. 

Dobey motioned the men to the two new seats. “Sit down!” It wasn’t a suggestion. 

They did. “Captain Dobey…” It was the second man and his voice sounded entirely too slick to Starsky’s ear.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak yet,” Dobey said, overriding Slick’s next words. “This is _my_ office and you’ll do as I say, when I say.” He gestured to Starsky and Hutch. “These men, in case you don’t recognize them, are the two you told me to place in somebody’s unidentified hands. Lieutenants David Starsky and Kenneth Hutchinson, Bay City Police Department, Cold Case Division. Tell them to their faces, what you ordered me to do. Go on, tell them!”

Starsky nodded to Dobey but raised a hand toward the new men. “First… who are you?”

“And show us I.D.” Hutch added.

The two men practically vibrated with frustration but they took folders out of inside pockets and opened them, clearly intending to retain possession.

Starsky just stared at them and held out his hand. When they finally passed them over, Starsky opened one and gave the other to Hutch. After a few moments, he exchanged his for the one Hutch had. Drawing things out as long as possible, Starsky returned them to the feds. “Cummings and Berthold. Berthold and Cummings. Sounds like a comedy act.” He put polite apology in his tone. “I didn’t really look at the mug shots…” He had, of course. “Which one’s which?”

Berthold, the second man through the door, flushed and Starsky couldn’t tell if it was from irritation or amusement. “Berthold.”

With a smile that only he, Hutch, and probably Dobey understood, Starsky pointed to himself then Hutch. “I’m Starsky, he’s Hutchinson.”

“Yeah,” Berthold muttered. “We know.”

Dobey sat down, not relaxing his iron authority one little bit. “Now, explain to me and my detectives exactly what this is all about.”

Berthold and Cummings whispered together for a minute while Starsky tried to keep his mind from going off in too many directions - best to wait. 

At last, Berthold sat forward. “We don’t really know, Captain Dobey. Arnie and I,” he motioned toward his buddy, “we’re only the errand boys. We’re told who to get to a specific place at a specific time. That’s all.” 

“And, before you ask,” Cummings said, “we don’t know anything more than that.”

“You don’t know shit, then, do you?” Starsky didn’t even attempt to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

Both agents’ shoulders slumped. “I guess you could say that,” Cummings admitted.

Dobey sat forward. “Who gives you the names? Where do your orders come from? Who picks the places and times?”

Berthold took a piece of paper out of an inside jacket pocket and handed it to Dobey. “We get faxes.”

Dobey scanned the page before handing it to Starsky. Starsky leaned toward Hutch so that they could read it at the same time. 

“That fax could have come from anywhere!” Dobey’s raised voice had probably been heard in the squad room and, realizing that, he lowered it. “There’s no heading, not even a return number.” His hackles were definitely up, now. “This smells to high heaven and you know it! But you do what you’re told to do without question. Don’t you?”

Berthold hunched his shoulders. “Yes, sir.”

Starsky handed the slippery piece of paper back to the agent. “That’s terrific. Seems like ‘just following orders’ was the defense everyone used at the Nuremberg trials.”

Dobey nodded, a grim look on his face. “That’s exactly right, Starsky. But this is 1983 and I’m not buyin’ it! So if you two don’t tell us every little thing you know, I’m going to call a friend of mine in Washington and make sure those credentials of yours get yanked before today’s end of shift!”

Starsky wasn’t sure their captain could do that but Berthold and Cummings were looking like they believed the threat.

“Captain…” Berthold began.

“Don’t!” Dobey raised his version of The Hutchinson Finger. “Don’t even think about lying or making something up. Tell us what you know!”

“The instructions…” “Colonel Colby,” they said, overlapping.

“What? Wait!” Starsky hollered, stopping them in mid-words. “Did you say, ‘Colby’?”

“ _John_ Colby?” Hutch appended.

Berthold looked at Cummings before replying. “Yeah. That name was on the first couple of faxes we got. Not recently, though.”

Cummings nodded agreement. “Lately, it’s only been the names of the guys we’re sent after. But I remember the one you just said.”

“John Carlton Colby? United States Air Force?” Hutch specified.

Berthold nodded. “Think so.”

Cummings’ face displayed uncertainty. “Middle initial’s C, I’m pretty sure about that.”

Hutch’s grim expression matched Starsky’s thoughts. He glared at Dobey. “Isn’t he supposed to be in federal prison, Cap?”

“Last I heard he was, Starsky.” Dobey turned his icy stare on the plainly confused agents. “John Colby, in case you are unaware, gentlemen, is an assassin. Hutchinson and Starsky foiled his attempt to kill a federal witness some years ago and it was discovered that the witness hadn’t been his first target. Colby was a highly paid killer. He was sent to Leavenworth, supposedly for life.”

“Uh…” Berthold checked wordlessly with Cummings. “Can we use a phone?”

Dobey pointed to the squad room door. “Out there!”

The feds left the room.

Starsky took Hutch’s hand. Dobey swiveled his chair and looked out the window, giving them as much privacy as possible, which Starsky appreciated. He knew what bringing Colby’s name into the mix was doing to his partner. “Listen, Hutch --”

“I’m okay, Starsk. Whatever’s going on, we need to put Colby back where he belongs.”

Starsky didn’t say anything more during the nearly ten minutes the agents were gone; he knew his soft stroking of Hutch’s knuckles was transferring the love and support needed. He let go of the hand when the squad room door opened.

Berthold and Cummings’ attitudes and body language were now subdued as they took their seats. “It seems you are correct, Captain Dobey,” Berthold said. “John Carlton Colby was, indeed, in Leavenworth.”

“However, he must have friends in high places,” Cummings went on, “because someone - we won’t be able to find out who without a great deal of digging, which is probably way above Bert’s and my pay grade - someone got him out. He was promoted to Lt. Colonel and put in charge of… whatever’s going on.”

“Keep talking,” Dobey prompted, when neither agent appeared willing to continue.

“Whatever happens to the men we’re told to set up for retrieval,” Berthold said, “is part of an operation out of a division of the DOD that’s off the radar.”

“Black ops,” Starsky said.

Berthold nodded. “Without going a great deal higher up the food chain than Arnie and I are authorized to do, for confirmation, yes. That’s possible.”

“At least tell us your part in it,” Hutch urged, much more gently than Starsky would have.

“Well,” Berthold began, “we’re given the names of guys, always a pair, and told where they need to be at a specific time.”

“And then?” Dobey demanded.

“Bert and I make it happen,” Cummings replied. “We’re never supplied with any more information after that. Two to three weeks, maybe a month later, we get a fax with the next two names.”

“Always a pair?” Starsky asked, intrigued in spite of himself.

“Yes,” Berthold said. “Always male. Mostly they’ve been cops, like you guys, partners. From all over the state.”

“Twice it was paramedics,” Cummings said. “It seems like there aren’t too many jobs that require pairs of guys, so whoever’s choosing them has a limited supply to pick from.”

Starsky thought about that. “He’s right. Firemen come in teams, carpenters are loners…”

“Doctors, lawyers, Indian chiefs…” Hutch added.

“Plumbers, teachers, ministers… librarians,” Dobey mused. “No pairs.” He stared at the feds again. “How many of these… partners have you… provided?” 

“Eight,” Berthold answered. “You two were to be the ninth.”

Dobey’s phone rang and he snatched up the receiver. “I can’t talk to anyone right now.” After he listened for a moment, he hit the speaker button and hung up. “Who’s calling?” 

“It has come to my attention,” a deep, commanding voice boomed, “that somebody out in your neck of the woods is inquiring into the classified activities of Colonel John Colby.”

“That would be me,” Dobey said. “Who are you?”

“Major General J.P. Sinclair, United States Air Force, Special Assistant to the Secretary of Defense. Who the hell are _you?_ ”

“Captain Harold Dobey, Bay City P.D.” 

“Well, allow me to explain something to you, _Captain_ ,” the general intoned, “I got John Colby out of Leavenworth because I happened to believe he needed to be doing his current research more than he needed to be twiddling his thumbs in prison.”

“And what research is that, General?” Dobey was making notes. His tone was silky but Starsky could tell it was costing him.

“None of your damn business!” Sinclair’s tone turned threatening. “It’s top secret and way beyond your need to know. He’s giving us valuable data and that’s all I’m going to say. So stand down!” The line was disconnected.

No one said a word for several moments but Starsky had never liked being told to back off from anything. He looked at Berthold and Cummings who seemed to be more uncomfortable than ever. “When are me and my partner supposed to be picked up?” 

Berthold didn’t look happy but he told them. “Tomorrow. Noon. At the address we gave your captain.”

“Is it always the same place?” Dobey wanted to know.

Cummings shook his head. “No, sir. There are offices all over the state that the DOD uses for their… unofficial activities.” 

Starsky had an idea and knew his partner was on the same page when he felt the _yes_ coming from Hutch. Without needing confirmation, he drilled a look at Dobey. “I think Hutch and I ought to show up when and where we’re supposed to. We can find out what’s going on, and right from under General Sinclair’s nose, take Colby down again.”

“No way!” Dobey bellowed. “I thought I was clear about that, Starsky. I don’t hang my people out to dry! Besides, Sinclair just ordered us to stand down.”

“But, Cap’n…” Starsky exchanged a quick affirmative look with Hutch before going on. “With Colby involved, when he should be in prison, don’t we need to look into the situation? He’s interviewed sixteen men, so far. What’s he trying to learn? What’s happened to them? And why was the general so anxious to keep us out of it? Especially after we’d been… invited to the party?”

“That’s the DOD’s problem, Starsky,” Dobey replied, firmly. “Let them sort it out!”

“Captain,” Hutch said. “Starsky and I know Colby. We --”

“No, Hutchinson,” Dobey repeated. “Going into something like what these agents, and that damn officious general have succeeded in telling us nothing about, without backup, would be --”

“Uh, Captain,” Berthold broke in. “It’s possible that they wouldn’t be completely alone.”

Every eye in the room snapped to Berthold.

“He’s right, sir,” Cummings said. “There is a person we’ve just been told might have some sort of oversight.”

“What, exactly,” Dobey snarled, “do you mean by ‘some sort of oversight’?”

“Well, we’ve not sure, sir,” Cummings said.

“What does _that_ mean?” Dobey asked.

Berthold leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. “Our boss, the person we called from the squad room, who confirmed Colby’s record - and then probably ratted us out to Sinclair - told Arnie and me that he believes there’s a member of Colby’s staff who’s not letting anything too serious happen to the… interviewees.”

“Any idea who this person is?” was Dobey’s next question.

“No, sir, I’m afraid not.” Cummings’ tone matched Berthold’s intensity. “Our boss doesn’t know, either, but he’s gotten vibes that whatever’s going on might be a little… unauthorized.”

“Black ops,” Starsky muttered again.

“The boss thinks a supervisor of some kind’s been planted,” Berthold continued, “on the QT, to keep an eye on things.” He shrugged. “General Sinclair might not even know about that.” 

“But, basically,” Starsky tried to make his tone sound casual, “Hutch and I would be going in alone.”

Dobey shot to his feet. “That’s why I won’t allow it!” 

Starsky stood, too, “Cap --”

“No, Starsky!” Dobey actually glared. “Just… no.”

“Captain…” Hutch’s quiet voice cut through the tension in the air. Starsky tried to read his partner’s expression but, for one of the first times ever, he couldn’t. After a few moments, he and Dobey sat down. Berthold and Cummings leaned back in their chairs, probably attempting to distance themselves from whatever happened next. 

Hutch cleared his throat. “What if Starsky and I volunteer?”

Starsky suddenly felt sorry for Dobey because Hutch’s question had taken the wind right out of his sails.

Dobey’s shoulders drooped. “Dammit, Hutchinson.”

“You know Starsky and I have to do this, sir,” Hutch went on. “John Colby’s not a man who should be allowed to have power over anyone. I don’t care what General J.P. Sinclair says. Colby needs to be back in Leavenworth.”

The silence that followed was so complete, Starsky thought he could hear a clock ticking somewhere but he didn’t want to look around.

Finally, Dobey nodded. “I don’t like it.” His voice had lost all its bluster. “I think it stinks!” He turned his re-igniting ire on the two feds. “And if anything, _anything_ unpleasant happens to my men, you two are going to be the first ones I come for.” He glanced at Starsky and Hutch. “Right after John C. Colby.” 

*******

That night, Hutch crawled into bed and drew Starsky into his arms; the dark, curly hair was still damp from their shower. “You’ve hardly said a word since dinner. I thought I’d be the one thinking too much about tomorrow.”

“This whole thing’s crazy, Hutch. Colby’s supposed to be in prison. Instead, he’s in an Air Force uniform - as a Lieutenant Colonel no less - and screwing with men’s lives.”

“Not to mention all the taxpayer money he’s spending at some undisclosed location, doing… interviews.”

“From what we learned the last time we ran into him, it’s not going to be as simple as that.”

“Probably not.”

“So, how do we play it?”

Hutch pulled his partner closer. “By ear, I guess. We won’t have much choice until we know more.”

Starsky snuggled his head under Hutch’s chin. “I’ll hold your jacket if you decide you want to continue that fight on the beach.”

Hutch almost smiled; if he and Starsky weren’t going into the lion’s den the next day, he would have. Instead, he kissed the chocolate curls. “You always have my back.”

“Damn straight.”

*******

Starsky drove into the South Bay City Industrial Park. There was a guard house but no guard and the gates were open. As he passed slowly through intersections and wound deeper into the complex, he read street signs out loud. “Productivity Lane, Commerce Road, Competition Boulevard…. Who comes up with these names?”

“A motivation expert?”

“Well, you’d never get me to work in a place like this.” He gestured out the window at the sterile-looking two-story concrete buildings. “Pour the slabs, crane ‘em up to vertical, bolt ‘em together, throw on a roof, then hang the floors and walls inside.”

“Quick and cheap, I imagine.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t want to be in one when an earthquake hit.”

“Good point.”

“There’re only a few cars in all these parking lots, Hutch. Place looks almost deserted.”

“Berthold and Cummings did say it was new. The developers must not have full occupancy, yet. There it is.” Hutch pointed to a sign at the entrance to yet another parking lot. In dark blue letters on a white background were the words, U.S. Department of Defense, Division of Operational Cooperation.

Starsky turned in. “What does Division of Operational Cooperation mean?’

“Maybe it’s people who try to get the various groups to work together.”

“Yeah, like that’ll ever happen.” Starsky parked in the slot marked Visitors, directly in front of the door, and got out. “Looks deserted.”

Hutch joined him at the front of the car, nodding. He checked his watch. “It isn’t noon yet. Maybe everybody took an early lunch.”

Starsky leaned his butt on the hood and crossed his arms. “What’s with the roll-up door? Why would paper-pushers need that?”

“Deliveries of… paper?” 

Hutch was obviously trying for levity and Starsky was grateful. “What did I get us into, Hutch, when I told Dobey we should do this? We know Colby’s involved so we need to be prepared for anything. Right?”

“Right.”

“What do you think… retrieval means, and why am I as nervous as a long-tailed cat…”

“In a room full of rocking chairs,” Hutch finished. “Hmmm, now that you mention it, I’m a bit on the anxious side myself.”

Starsky pushed himself vertical. “Since we’re early, what do you say we take a walk around this place?”

“I say, good idea.” Hutch stood, too. “But together, okay? I don’t want to split up right now.”

“Agreed.”

Starsky, with Hutch at his shoulder, walked cautiously around the building. There was wind-blown trash against the chain link fences and the plantings were sparse and not well tended. Blinds were down behind ground-floor windows but nothing looked particularly suspicious. Not very inviting but maybe that’s what the DOD wanted. 

Back at the front, Hutch checked the handle on the door next to the roll-up. It wasn’t locked. “I say again, hmmmmmmm.” He reached under his jacket.

With a nod, Starsky drew his Beretta and motioned. “After you, Alfonse.”

Hutch played along. “Oh, no, you’re too kind. How about… _now!_ ”

Starsky shoved the door open and they leaped in side by side. The light from the doorway didn’t extend far into the dark interior except to show the bulk of a large vehicle inside the rollup door.

When no one jumped out at them or started shooting, they stepped forward and looked around.

Without warning, Starsky was hit in the neck by something sharply painful. “What th --?” He lifted his right hand to his throat and pulled the thing out. It was a small dart. He stared at it for a moment before Hutch fell against him. “Hutch…”

THE PRESENT

After remembering the prior two days, and much additional consideration regarding his thirst and hunger, Hutch decided he had been unconscious for at least eighteen hours. With no windows in his cell, he had no idea what time it was but his constitution was a fairly good judge. He deemed it was most likely Wednesday. Whatever Colby had brought them here for - wherever _here_ was - it was clearly for some purpose other than interviews.

A leaking-tire noise made him look up at the vent over and behind his head. A whitish gas was pouring out. _Yep_ , he thought, _here we go._

As soon as he regained consciousness, he knew he wasn’t in his cell. Sitting in a rigid chair which, he quickly discovered, was securely attached to the floor, he was blindfolded and gagged. His wrists were taped to the thick arms of the chair and his ankles were tied to the legs. There were straps around his chest, waist and thighs, holding him tightly to the high back and seat. He couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t see. 

However, as it turned out, he could hear. 

The first sound was a screech that hurt his ears so badly he felt as if his head would explode. It was followed by a ululating shriek that rose and fell over the entire range of his auditory capability. On and on it went, louder and louder, past the point when Hutch thought he’d pass out, to the point when he was afraid he wouldn’t. 

Recalling what Michael Caine’s character in ‘The Ipcress File,’ had done in similar circumstances, but not having anything to use except his fingernails, Hutch dug those into the palms of his hands and endured.

*******

Starsky woke from the most recent drugging - a white mist from the ceiling vents - to the strangest feeling he’d ever had. No feeling whatsoever. His army background told him, almost immediately, where he was, but he’d never actually experienced a zero-sensation tank before. 

Everything was utterly dark; the blackest dark he’d ever known. He figured he must be floating in body-temperature water, arms and legs spread so that they couldn’t touch each other, any part of his body, or anything else. The shackles were made of some really soft material because he couldn’t feel them, unless he struggled. When he did, though, the irritation of abused skin meant he was definitely still alive. He fought against the restraints, just to give himself the added discomfort. _Fuck you, Colby! I ain’t playin’ your stupid game! I ain’t gonna go crazy. Not now, and not any time soon._

Just for the hell of it, he screamed, “Fuck you!” As expected, the sound was absorbed completely. Oh well, if pain and screaming were his only choices, he’d be satisfied with those. For now. “Huuuuuuutchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” 

He began silently counting the seconds as he’d always done to figure out how far away lightning was: one-thousand-one, one-thousand-two, one- thousand-three…. Somewhere in the middle of the twelve hundreds, he drifted off.

When he woke up in his cell, he knew he’d been gassed again in order to get him out of the isolation chamber and back here. He was clothed but it was still cold. He sat up on the edge of the cot, realizing he felt rested. Colby had let him sleep off the gas, after getting him out of the tank. That was okay, he needed all the sleep he could get. But, damn, he was seriously hungry and thirsty.

That’s when he noticed two containers on the floor inside the door. Cautiously, he walked over and picked up the bowl and large cup. Both were made of plastic, most likely unbreakable. 

Carrying them back to the bed, he sat and drank the water. The bowl contained broth with small chunks of some kind of meat and a variety of vegetables. Having no spoon, Starsky slurped the soup, down to the last drop. He had no idea how long he’d been in this place but he knew he needed all the liquid and nourishment he’d be allowed, if he was going to survive. And he was damn well going to survive! 

Finished, he took the containers back to the door and put them on the floor. Facing the blocked window, he shouted, “Huuuuuuuuuttchhhhhhhhhhhh.”

*******

Hutch was sure he heard Starsky’s voice that time, longer and louder than before. But he gave no sign to the observers, continuing to sit calmly on his cot. Since he’d come to, the headache produced by the seemingly endless battering of decibels had backed off to nearly bearable, probably due to letting him sleep off most of the effects of the sound chamber.

His hands hurt enough to let him know he’d been effective in his anti-torture defense. None of it was anything a bottle of aspirin wouldn’t cure, and the cuts in his palms had been covered with large Band-Aids. Apparently, Colby didn’t want him dying of infection. Or the oversight person intervened. _Either way, swell._

He’d eaten the thin soup and drunk the water he’d found in his cell when he’d awakened, retreating immediately afterward to his meditative position. Let them think what they wanted. At least he knew his partner was still alive, thank God, and still resisting. He could picture Starsky in what was most likely a similar cell, pacing, ranting, threatening and, in general, being obstreperous. It made him smile inside. _We’ll get out of this, Starsk,_ he silently promised. _I just hope whoever’s on the inside here won’t allow this ‘interview’ to get much more torturous._

*******

Starsky’s hallucinations, when they hit, were horrific visions and delusions. Psychedelic, multi-colored, moving lights swam and flashed behind his eyes, throwing darts of excruciating pain into his brain. When beating his head against the wall didn’t help, he ran from one side of the room to the other, trying to knock himself out.

Suddenly, he stopped. Something was crawling up his arms, under the skin. He flung his jacket and shirt off and dug his nails in after them. He didn’t manage to stop them but he kept trying. 

He sprinted back and forth, slamming his head and scraping at his arms, until he collapsed and crawled under the cot, curling into fetal position where, thankfully, he lost consciousness.

When he woke up, the worst of the horrible mental images and physical sensations were gone, leaving him with the worst headache he’d ever had. He wasn’t under the cot - which was where he thought he remembered being - he was on top of it. Breathing deeply for a couple of minutes, he waited for his heart to return to its normal beat.

As soon as that happened, Starsky sat up and got to his feet, feeling as if he’d gone a hundred rounds with Muhammad Ali. He took two steps and, making sure not to lose his precarious balance, bent to pick up his shirt and jacket. Backing up those same two steps, he sat on the edge of the bed. With sanity returning, he realized the things he’d experienced mirrored tales he’d heard from his army buddies who had experimented with LSD. _And that kind of trip was supposed to be fun? You guys were sick!_

Like a bolt of lightning, Starsky remembered rumors he’d heard during his years in the service about a few army divisions being dosed with the hallucinogenic, just to see what would happen. In the Navy, sailors in their dress whites had supposedly been ordered to stand on the decks of their ships and watch a Pacific island incinerated by an A-bomb only five miles away. Afterward, they were given liberty on what was left of the beaches. _God! I hope none of that’s true!_ Somewhere inside, though, he began to suspect all of it was. 

Starsky studied his arms and hands. Gauze covered the gouges he was sure he’d dug, and the skin and blood he knew had to have been under his fingernails wasn’t there. He thought he smelled the non-scent of Johnson & Johnson First Aid Cream but wasn’t about to unpeel the wrappings to find out. Somebody was definitely trying to keep the situation in hand - at least to a degree. 

When he felt as if his legs wouldn’t betray the mental and physical sickness coursing through him due to the most recent torment, and the memories that had generated, he walked over to the door where another bowl of soup and cup of water were waiting. He dumped both on the floor and flung the containers at the wall. They dropped, unbroken. Nodding in satisfaction, he put his shirt and jacket back on, gave the closest corner vent ‘the finger,’ and stretched out on the cot. _Where's Hutch? And what's he going through?_ Continuing to worry and curse silently, sleep overtook him.

*******

Hutch’s drug-induced dreams had him in Forest’s bungalow, reliving the euphoria of each injection, then the increasing desperation of withdrawal. He crawled on the floor and begged his abusers not to leave! They came back, of course, shot him up again, and he soared in ecstasy. Until the progressively-worse crashes that came after each flight. 

Deep in his mind, he knew it wasn’t real, but the visions were soul-rending none the less.

He relived Jeannie’s appearance with sad uncaring, then his escape. He remembered running, stumbling, falling, wanting to die. Finally, strong, supporting arms held him and he heard the voice of his partner. That was followed by days of unimaginable pain and lashing anger. 

Relentlessly, those memories/horrors segued into fear and aching loneliness as he lay broken, trapped underneath his car. Calling, begging someone to hear him, and pleading with Sonny for help. How many days and nights was it, really, before he felt those same strong, gentle hands again? 

Hutch had no idea how long the bedevilment lasted - it seemed like forever - but as soon as the all-too-vivid memories abated, he crawled onto the bed and forced his wrung-out body into lotus position, closing his eyes. He didn’t want Colby to know how close he had come to breaking. He kept his face blank and his hands relaxed. Inside, the tears were bitter, and continued until he slipped into disturbed sleep.

*******

Starsky woke up to more food and water waiting for him, beside a slightly-open door. 

He got up, ignoring both offerings; he’d starve to death before he ate another mouthful or drank another drop of their provided fare.

Slowly, positive it was a trap, he peeked into the hall. Outside, the corridor was empty. To the left was a series of doors on both sides, all probably leading to cells identical to his, stretching for what appeared to be thirty yards or more. _Some facility! Possibly a decommissioned air base._

To the right was a door across the nearby end of the hall with an EXIT sign at the ceiling above it. The small window midway up showed daylight. 

Cautiously, Starsky crept to the door and looked out. Barren ground, with pathways edged by white stones, extended to a very tall fence about half a football field away. It was topped with rolls of barbed wire. No guard towers were in view but he figured they were there.

Starsky tried the door knob and wasn’t really surprised when he found it unlocked. Smiling to himself, he turned back to the hallway and strode toward the far end. As he passed the presumed cells, he tried each knob. All were locked and he continued on.

*******

“Why didn’t he _escape,_ Colonel Colby?” Delia Flannigan stared at the monitor that showed Starsky stalking the hallway, trying door knobs. She turned to the officer beside her. “I don’t understand. Everyone has always tried to get away!”

“You don’t need to understand, Lieutenant,” was the cold reply. “You’re only required to take notes, write up my observations, and be here in case anything goes wrong with the equipment.”

“Yes, sir.” She turned back to the screen. “We’ve tortured --” When he glared at her she changed the word. “Tested… both of them for four days. And these… sessions have been more intensive and extended than any others so far. You never used the isolation tank or sound chamber before. Yet, when given a chance to leave, Starsky refused.”

“He won’t go without his partner,” the colonel muttered.

“You knew this would happen?”

“I suspected. They’re extremely tight.” He gestured to a man sitting at a console. “Take him down.”

On the monitor, mist began to flow from vents in the hallway’s ceiling. Delia watched as Starsky stopped and stared at the closest source. “Damn you, whoever you are!” he shouted. “I ain’t leavin’ without Hutch!” Stumbling, Starsky leaned against the wall and slid to the floor.

The colonel waited until he was sure Starsky was senseless before nodding a second time. Quickly and quietly, the mist was forced out of the corridor by fresh air. Colby motioned again and two uniforms left the room. On the screen, Delia watched them enter the hall at the far end, pick up Starsky and carry him to his cell. On a different monitor, she saw them toss Starsky on the cot and leave, locking the door behind them.

Delia turned away from the scene and glared at the man she was coming to dislike as well as distrust. “I’ve read the profile on this… project many times, Colonel, but I’m beginning to suspect I have no idea what’s really going on here. Are we looking for ways to teach our troops how to survive these kinds of conditions? Or is it more personal?”

Colby’s face showed only bland unconcern. “Do you wish to continue in your current position, Lt. Flannigan? You’re our technical expert and chronicler but I’m sure I can find someone to replace you.”

That stopped her. Mentally, she took a step back because she couldn’t let him know her real purpose here: doing her best to make sure none of the men were permanently injured. “No, sir, I’ll stay.” She picked up a clipboard off the closest console. “I’d just like to know what we’re supposed to be learning from these two, and the other pairs. What possible use can this kind of treatment be in training covert operatives who are loners and almost never work together?” 

Colby glanced around at the interested faces in the room, all of whom immediately found other things to concentrate on. When he turned back, Delia saw what she suspected was hatred in her superior’s eyes.

“You say you’ve read the file, Lieutenant, but I’ll be happy to refresh your memory.” The colonel’s voice was haughty. “This operation was proposed as a way to find out if there’s such a thing as relationships that can’t be broken by extreme stress. If this country could put agents in the field as teams who care for one another, the way these two seem to, they might be able to withstand the worst punishment our enemies could devise.” He straightened to his full height and drilled her with a look that took no prisoners. “Is that clear enough for you? _Lieutenant.”_

She took a physical step back this time. “Yes, sir. Very clear.” When he nodded dismissal, she put the clipboard down, turned and walked out of the room, feeling the smugness of her co-workers wash over her. They were almost certainly happy to have heard her put in her place.

*******

Hutch decided not to indulge in whatever food or liquid was provided in the future. He’d rather die than experience another flashback. So the next time soup and water appeared, when he’d been asleep, he ignored them. Until he noticed that the door hadn’t been fully closed.

Wary and suspicious, he approached, pushed the door open and peered out into the hall. 

An EXIT sign glowed below the ceiling at the far end. Daylight seemed to be shining through the small window in the door. He knew he was being watched but he couldn’t resist the lure of that sunshine.

Peering out the window, the regimented pathways, far-off fencing, and nothing but desert beyond, convinced him that this was some sort of military compound, probably in the Mojave. If he walked out this door, as they obviously expected him to do, he’d be back in his cell in two shakes of a lamb’s tail. _What the hell does that phrase mean, anyway? Never mind, I’m not buying into your perverted game, Colby._

After he determined that the exit was unlocked, he turned away and began checking each of the doors as he moved along the corridor. _If I could just find Starsky, we’d figure a way out of here._

*******

This time, while the gas poured out of the vents, Hutchinson stumbled and fell, the corridor’s air was cleaned, and he was put back into his cell, Delia said nothing. She dutifully made notes and didn’t even glance at the colonel.

Nevertheless, Colby leaned over her shoulder and whispered, “You’re learning.” She didn’t allow him to know he’d startled her. Straightening up, he stared at the image of Hutch lying on his cot. “As am I.”

“So…” She kept her voice level and focused. “We know that neither one will leave when he has the chance, without the other.”

Colby continued to watch the screen. “And what does that tell you?”

“That they’re more committed to each other,” she answered, “than anyone we’ve seen before.”

Someone in the back of the room muttered, “Faggots.”

Colby spun and stared at the offending uniform until he hunched over his keyboard. Turning back to the monitors, Delia couldn’t read his expression.

“Is that true, sir?” she whispered.

Colby kept his voice lowered, too. “I believe so.” 

“And you think that’s how they manage to keep from being broken? Like the other pairs we’ve brought here?”

“Do you know history, Lieutenant?” he asked, out of the blue. 

The superior note in his tone made her want to smack him but she shrugged instead - history hadn’t been her best subject. “A little.”

“Sparta.” His voice now held a sneer. “The basic story of the Battle of Thermopylae is fairly well known.”

“Greeks against Persians, wasn’t it?”

He nodded. “What isn’t as well known is that Sparta had three hundred of the best soldiers the world had ever seen. One hundred and fifty pairs of homosexuals, utterly committed to each other. They held off Xerxes’ army for days!”

In spite of herself, she was awed. “What happened?”

“They died,” Colby stated. “Every single one of them. They were out-numbered more than a hundred to one but they never surrendered. They never broke and ran.”

She looked back at the monitors showing an unconscious Hutchinson and a sleeping Starsky. “And you think these two are like those warriors?”

“I suspected,” he replied. “You see, I’ve known them for a long time. The three of us were at their police academy together.”

She wanted to hear more, now, but she made sure her voice didn’t give away her interest. “Really.”

“I didn’t complete the course.” He lifted a shoulder. “A member of the Air Force offered me a better… opportunity.”

“And you haven’t seem them since?” she asked.

“On the contrary. We had a reunion some years ago. I was on assignment and made use of their… overly sympathetic tendencies. Hutchinson took rather aggressive exception.” He leaned forward and studied the screens. “I got the feeling, at the time, that they were more than simply partners.”

“Ah….” She let it go at that.

He turned away. “Queer as three dollar bills. I knew it!”

After he left the room, Delia didn’t meet anyone’s eyes but she felt they were all looking at her.

*******

That night, Delia walked into the monitoring room. It was unattended, even though the screens showed Starsky pacing, and Hutch on his cot, presumably asleep. She supposed Colonel Colby was satisfied with his prisoners’ reactions to their confinement and their refusal to escape without each other. He must have felt that watching them with live personnel during the night was no longer necessary. 

Not wanting her next actions to be recorded, she quickly typed several long commands into the main terminal, hitting ENTER after each series of keystrokes. Hoping that the result would be deemed another problem with the equipment, she watched as every console and monitor went dark.

She picked up the small duffle bag she’d dropped next to the door and left the room, moving silently into the corridor of cells. Coming to the one she knew was Hutchinson’s, she unlocked the door and entered. The overhead light was on, as it always was. 

Hutchinson was stretched on his side on the cot’s mattress. He opened his eyes slowly and looked at her. It appeared to take almost more energy than he possessed, but he leaned up on his right elbow. “I’m thirsty. And hungry.” His voice was rough and she could tell it must have hurt him to speak. “But I wouldn’t have thought I was delirious.”

She walked over and crouched beside the cot. She zipped open the satchel, extracted a large green glass bottle, and handed it to him. “My name is Delia Flannigan. Lieutenant Flannigan.”

“Air Force?”

“Yes. And, not tonight I’m afraid, but soon, I’m going to get you out.”

He glanced into the corner of the ceiling. “You shouldn’t be here, should you? I’m monitored all the time.”

She shook her head, glad to know he was completely alert and aware of his surroundings, especially after all he’d been through. “It’s okay. Nothing’s operative at the moment.”

Hutchinson pushed himself up and sat on the edge of the cot. “I’m not leaving without my partner.” 

She nodded and stood. “Of course not.” She gestured to the bottle. “Drink up.”

He eyed her and the offering suspiciously.

She almost smiled. “It’s not poisoned or drugged. I swear.”

Like a wild animal approaching a waterhole he knows is staked out by a predator, Hutchinson uncapped the bottle and took a sip. As the liquid slid down his throat, he almost groaned with obvious pleasure. She waited patiently until he had slaked his immediate thirst. Putting the cap back on, he looked up at her. “Starsky?”

She picked up the duffle, took the bottle from him and stashed it inside. “You can finish this in a minute. I’ve got food and water for both of you in here.” She motioned toward the open door. “I’ll take you to him right now.”

Checking to make sure the hall was clear, Delia led Hutchinson to Starsky’s cell near the far end. As soon as she opened the door, a fist flew out and landed on her jaw. She fell back into Hutchinson and her momentum carried them into the wall behind, where they both collapsed.

*******

Starsky darted out of his cell, ready to run, but stopped short when he realized the woman he’d struck was in the arms of his partner. He moved to Hutch, knelt, and put a hand to the side of his face. “Hutch.”

Blinking, Hutch looked up into his worried eyes. “Right here, Starsk. You didn’t have to flatten our rescuer, though.” After he got up, with a little help from Starsky, and the woman had climbed to her own feet, Hutch gestured to her. “This is Lieutenant Flannigan. She’s about to fill us in on Colby’s recent nefarious activities.”

The lieutenant was incredulous. “You know Colonel Colby’s involved?”

Starsky shared an ironic look with his partner. “Oh, yeah.” Then, unable to help himself, he threw his arms around Hutch. “Missed you, babe.”

Hutch returned the hug with as much strength as Starsky figured he could muster. “Missed you, too.” 

Starsky held onto Hutch but turned to Flannigan. “Okay, lady, talk to us.”

“Where are we?” Hutch asked, before she could speak.

“Patience, fellas. We don’t have much time and I have quite a lot to tell you.”

*******

Delia ushered them into an empty cell and distributed water and sandwiches as they all sat, cross-legged, on the floor. “This will probably be the last un-doctored food and water you’ll be offered before I can get you out of here. So eat and drink as much as you can, without making yourselves sick. It’s going to have to last you a day or two.”

She noticed Starsky wasn’t looking at her, he was studying his partner’s face, his posture, his entire being, as if memorizing something he’d been afraid he’d never see again. Finally, as he and Hutchinson shared an almost-intimate smile, Starsky took a gulp of water and the first bite of his sandwich. He swallowed before he asked, “Where are we?” 

Delia drew in a deep breath and began. “We’re at an old airbase in the Mojave Desert.” She passed more water and another sandwich to each of them. “You’re being tested.”

Starsky jumped to his feet. “Those sonzabitches! Wait’ll I get ahold of Berthold and Cummings. They said we’d be _interviewed!_ ”

Hutchinson reached up and took Starsky’s hand. “Easy, Starsk. Let’s hear her out.” Gently, he pulled his partner back down. “Eat your sandwich.”

Clearly reluctant and still angry, Starsky did as suggested, his eyes now drilling into Delia’s. “Spill it, Lieutenant. And it damn well better be good!”

Delia was flustered; these two evidently knew something but plainly not enough. “The experiments you’ve been subjected to --” 

“Torture, you mean,” Starsky broke in.

Hutchinson put a hand on Starsky’s arm but said nothing; his gaze on hers was no less angry than his partner’s.

She hunched her shoulders. “Yes, torture.”

“I wasn’t aware this country did that kind of thing.” Hutchinson began to stroke his partner’s arm but, in response to a slight grimace, he stopped. Without waiting for Starsky’s permission, Hutchinson pushed up both sleeves on the sensitive limb and blanched at the bandages. “What happened, Starsk?”

Starsky shook his head and rolled the sleeves down. “Not now, okay?” As Hutchinson withdrew his hands, Starsky grabbed one and brought it fully into the light, his gaze finding his partner’s. They were visibly sharing each other’s pain and Delia felt like a voyeur.

Starsky finally looked at Delia. “My partner has a point. This country isn’t supposed to engage in the kind of treatment he and I seem to have been going through.”

“No, it’s not,” she admitted. “But certain sections of the Department of Defense delve into all kinds of things you might have a difficult time believing.”

“Not anymore we won’t,” Starsky responded.

“You’re the ninth pair we’ve had here,” she went on. “Every other man took the first opportunity to escape that was offered.”

“After the kinda shit you’ve done to me, I’m not surprised.” Starsky’s voice had become harsher, even bitter. He searched Hutchinson’s eyes. “What’d they do to you, partner?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Hutchinson replied.

Her heart ached from the anguish the men were sharing silently. Clearing her throat, she brought their attention back to her. “Once each of those pairs had broken, they were rendered unconscious with a drug that erases short-term memory, and returned to where they’d been picked up.”

Starsky snorted. “After they woke up, they probably thought they’d dreamed it all.” He stared at her. “Right?”

She nodded. “Probably. They’re monitored but, so far, they seem to be adjusting back into their normal lives with only moderate aftereffects. So none of them has ever been told what really happened to them.”

“Well, isn’t that just hunky-dory?” Hutchinson’s sarcasm and disgust were unmistakable. “Colby’s ugliness is all over this, Starsk.”

“You got that right,” Starsky agreed.

She shook herself, mentally, and tried to get her objectivity back. “This operation was supposedly designed to discover whether or not there are partnerships that can’t be broken under duress. Duress such as our enemies might apply if agents were captured.”

“Sweet,” Starsky murmured.

“What I’ve come to believe,” she went on, “is that Colonel Colby put those first eight pairs through less-rigorous procedures, in preparation for you two.”

“And still all the others tried to escape?” Starsky asked.

“Yes,” she replied.

“A real partnership takes guts, Starsk. We know that.” He considered for another couple of breaths, before looking at Delia. “Unfortunately, Colby saving the best for us makes sense, I suppose. He has a personal grudge to settle.”

“After this is all over,” she said, “I hope you’ll tell me more about your prior relationship with Colonel Colby. For now, though, let me just say that when we began your tests, we knew something was different.”

Hutchinson reached and took Starsky’s hand before he met her gaze. “We’re a couple. Completely out of the closet. Did you know that?”

She shook her head. “Not until yesterday. The colonel admitted --” 

Starsky raised a hand and cut her off. “Lieutenant, Hutch and I knew, before we got here, that John Colby was involved in whatever was going on, but what you may not be aware of is the fact that Colby is supposed to be in Leavenworth.” 

“For some reason,” she mused, “that doesn’t surprise me, even though it’s not in his file. Somebody must have gotten him out, and he sold this idea to what I suspect are black-ops people in the DOD.”

“Is that why you’re…” Starsky glanced at Hutchinson and got a small nod. “Why you’re the oversight person here?”

She was shocked again but quickly realized she shouldn’t have been. These guys weren’t the complete innocents the first eight pairs had been. “You knew about me?”

“We were told somebody was trying to keep a lid on things,” Starsky said.

“What we didn’t understand,” Hutchinson continued, “was how depraved these interviews had been.”

Despite her best efforts, heat washed up to her face. “I’m sorry. Up to now, I’ve had no authority to prevent Colby from doing whatever he wanted. He and this project are apparently sanctioned from a very high office. And he showed nothing like his hatred for you two during the first eight detentions. Those were actually quite benign, compared to what he’s been doing to you, and I guess I wanted to believe the operation was legitimate. Black-ops, yes, but with some validity.”

“Less intense, before us, right?” Starsky asked.

She nodded. “Yes. Once I realized the colonel seemed to have it in for you, I’ve been trying to make sure you weren’t seriously injured, without giving my position away yet.”

Starsky lifted Hutch’s bandaged hand, which he still held. “Thanks for doing this.”

“You’re welcome.” She fought the blush their stares were creating and got back to business. “I need as much evidence as I can get in order to call in my superiors. Colby obviously has very important supporters and I want to have so much against him that no one can put him back in control.”

Hutchinson waved off her apology. “We understand. Now, how long have Starsky and I been here?”

“Four days,” she answered. “I’m working on getting you out.”

“Don’t take any chances.” Hutchinson’s voice was cautionary now. “John Colby is an assassin.”

She was shaken, yet tried to hide it. “Well, that’s not what I expected to hear.”

“Believe it!” Starsky growled. 

She thought about it and nodded. “From the looks I’ve seen in his eyes, I do.” She put more determination in her voice. “And I can’t allow this to continue any longer. As soon as I get you two out of here, I’m going to do everything in my power to have this place shut down!” She began gathering up the bottles and plastic wrap and stuffing it all in her duffle. Holding up the final bottle of water, Starsky reached for it, drained half and gave the rest to his partner.

“Most of the officers I’ve met in the Air Force are good people,” she said. “I don’t know how Colonel Colby got in.”

The two men shared a look before Starsky turned back to her. “He had skills a certain group wanted to exploit.”

“They recruited him out of our police academy,” Hutch added.

“Yes,” Delia replied. “He told me that. He also told me he’d had a reunion with you both a few years ago, and said it had become rather… contentious.” 

Hutchinson smiled, ruefully. “‘Contentious’ is a good word for it.”

Starsky snorted. “He tried to kill Hutch.”

The partners communicated silently again before Hutchinson turned back to her. “Are you allowed off the base?” 

“Yes. And tomorrow’s my regular day to collect my mail and do laundry. I have an apartment - each of us does, in Baker - for when we’re not on duty. There are twelve of us involved in the project and three quarters of us, on rotation, are here at all times. The colonel, who lives here and never leaves, won’t be suspicious about my being gone before he gets up in the morning - he’s a late sleeper.” She shrugged and grinned. “I’ll be on his radar, though, as soon as he finds out the monitoring equipment is… down.”

“You mentioned that before,” Hutchinson said. “What have you done?” 

“I’m the tech expert around here and I shut everything down before I came to talk with you. As soon as I get back on base tomorrow, and have been informed of the situation, I’ll run a diagnostic and… discover… a glitch in the system. Most of the technology we’re using is relatively new. Problems crop up all the time.”

Hutchinson cocked his head. “Well done!”

She nodded, pleased to take the credit.

“Like Hutch said, don’t take any chances.” Starsky’s tone was softer, now, almost apologetic. 

Hutchinson smiled. “Yeah. We don’t want to lose the only person in this place who’s on our side.”

Unable to resist, she returned the smile. “I won’t. I’ve seen how scary the colonel can be.” She got to her feet.

They got up, too, and after only a moment’s wordless consultation, Hutchinson turned to her. “Please go see Captain Harold Dobey. Bay City P.D.”

“He’ll be waiting for your visit.” Starsky sent a lop-sided grin at his partner. “Bet he’s going out of his gourd by this time. Four days!”

Hutchinson nodded. “He didn’t like the whole setup to begin with, but he’s going to be mad as the proverbial wet hen as soon as he learns the extent of things.” 

Starsky turned to her. “Let me tell you how to find him.”

Delia pulled a pad of paper and a pen out of the satchel and wrote down the instructions. Leading them to the door, she opened it and peered into the hall. “All clear.”

Starsky walked calmly but stiffly to the door of his cell. After he was inside and she was about to lock it, he held out his hand. “Thank you. Sorry I socked you.”

She gave it a firm shake. “Under the circumstances, I’m a little surprised that’s all you did.” 

Starsky held on while he lifted his left hand toward her face but stopped short. “You’re gonna have a bruise.”

He was probably right but she didn’t want him to feel badly about it. “Nothing a little Cover Girl won’t hide.” She worked her jaw back and forth with a smile. “I think I’m really glad you weren’t at your best, though.”

With both of her charges chuckling now Starsky and Hutchinson exchanged a charged, intense look before she locked Starsky in. 

At Hutchinson’s door, she brought herself up short. “I forgot something. Hang on a sec, I’ll be right back.” Without waiting for Hutchinson’s reply, she returned to Starsky’s cell digging a partial roll of toilet paper out of her duffle. She knocked lightly this time before she opened it and, when he looked out at her, she held up it up. “Since no one can watch you for the next day or so, this is in case you’d like to use the crapper.”

He actually grinned at her as he took it. “You think of everything, Flannigan.”

“I’ve served on a primitive base in Alaska, Detective Starsky, I know how important privacy and a bit of t-paper can be.” She gestured toward the roll. “I suggest you mash that and put it under the mattress when not in use.” He was still grinning when she locked the door.

Back at Hutchinson’s cell, she handed him a similar partial roll. With a smile, he took it. “Much appreciated and roger, wilco.” She was fighting a blush as he bent over her hand and kissed the knuckles. When he straightened, he said, “You’re quite a lady. If I didn’t already have a life partner…”

She tried to beat down the heat that rushed up her neck but knew she wasn’t entirely successful. God, he was gorgeous! Instead, she motioned into the room. “Get in there!”

Holding her eyes, Hutchinson backed into the cell and she locked the door.

*******

Early the next morning, Delia drove down to Bay City and followed the directions Starsky had given her. Checking in with the desk sergeant, she was provided with a Visitor’s pass and told how to find the captain’s office. She knocked on the door that showed the correct signage next to the jamb but a raised voice from inside must have drowned out the sound.

After a minute, she opened the door and stuck her head around. The man standing behind the desk was black, heavy-set, and furious. He was on the phone, yelling, apparently in the middle of a harangue. “Look, Berthold, you and Cummings better tell your boss I want my men back!… No! I don’t care what Sinclair said! Colby’s had more than enough time to interview them, or whatever the hell he’s doing. If Starsky and Hutchinson are not in their office on Monday morning, uninjured, and ready to do police work, I’m calling my friend in Washington, who might just be as highly placed as your general. You do _not_ want me to do that!”

Slamming the phone down, he noticed her. She squared her shoulders and entered, closing the door behind her.

“That’s an Air Force uniform, correct?” When she nodded, he motioned to the guest chair in front of his desk before he sat down. “Can you tell me what’s happened to my detectives?”

She sat on the edge of the chair and opened her document satchel. Taking two thick files out, she handed them across to him. “I’m Lieutenant Delia Flannigan, and I’m here to help you get them back, Captain Dobey.”

“Starsky and Hutchinson?” When she nodded, his icy stare nearly solidified into visual daggers. “They were picked up five days ago. What’s happened to them?”

She swallowed hard but had known this wasn’t going to be easy. “They’re being held at a facility in the desert.” He reached for the phone but she raised a hand. “Hear me out, Captain, please.”

Dobey was plainly keeping his anger under control while she gave him all the information she had, including directions on how to find the base. Checking her notes often, she informed him of everything that had been done to Starsky and Hutchinson.

Dobey studied her face. “You say they haven’t been hurt?”

She grimaced. “A few minor injuries, sir. Mostly, it’s been psychological torment, stress, and no food or water that wasn’t drugged. They’ve both stopped eating and drinking what’s provided. I gave them sandwiches and water last night but that’s all they’ve had since Tuesday.”

“How long can they last that way?” His expression showed the horrors he was feeling and probably imagining.

During the drive down to Bay City, Delia had formed a plan. “I’m hoping it will only be one more day, sir. If you make waves from this end, and cause more from D.C., I’m pretty sure I’ll be able to convince Colonel Colby to let them go tomorrow.”

Dobey reached for the phone again. “That’ll be a start, Lieutenant, but I’m not going to let that sonavabitch get away with what he’s done to Starsky and Hutch.”

“No, sir, I don’t want you to. And I’ll help every way I can, after we get them out. But I also don’t want you to do anything that could cause the colonel to take drastic action in the meantime.”

Dobey sat back. “Such as?”

“He could kill them before you can get Washington stirred up enough.”

“Do you really think he’d do that?”

“Oh, yes, Captain. You haven’t seen the look in his eyes when he watches the monitors, or talks about Starsky and Hutchinson. I think he’d kill them, then try to figure out a way to weasel out of it. He’s clever and he’s driven. I’ve never seen such hatred.”

“Well then…” He stood and reached to shake her hand. “I’ll just make as much trouble as I can with my local and Washington contacts.” 

She gripped his large paw firmly. “Thank you, Captain. I’ll do my part at the base.”

He pulled a small pad of paper to him and scribbled two long numbers before tearing the page off and handing it to her. “This is my direct line here and my home phone. If I don’t hear from you within twenty-four hours, I’m comin’ out there, and I’m bringin’ the cavalry with me!”

She almost smiled. “You’ll hear from me, Captain.”

*******

Not wanting to break pattern, Starsky paced. Periodically, he stopped and stared at the vents. “Whatever you think you’ll accomplish with this shit, fellas, think again! I ain’t gonna cave and neither will my partner.” He went to the door and hollered, “Huuuuuuuuuuuuuuuttcchhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”

*******

In his cell, Hutch smiled on the inside. _I love you, Starsk. Keep making them think they’re in control._ Totally relaxed for the first time since he’d found himself in this predicament, he slept without dreams.

*******

The guard at the gate glared at her. “You’re late!”

She bristled. “No, I’m not. My next shift doesn’t start until six a.m. I’m actually half a day early.”

“Well, the colonel’s been looking for you since just after you left.” He went into his little shack and punched the button that started to raise the gate. “He’s makin’ it hell on the rest of us!”

She affected innocence. “What’s wrong?” 

“It seems the equipment isn’t working.”

“Isn’t working?” She added confusion to her tone. “You mean there’s been a glitch?”

He shook his head. “No idea. All I know is he’s been on a rampage so you better have a good explanation, since you’re the expert.”

Hiding her smug smile, Delia drove through the gate and parked in her usual spot. 

The guard must have called to say she’d returned because, before she could turn off the engine, Colby burst out the door and stood with his hands on his hips. “Where the bloody fucking hell have you been, Flannigan?”

She kept her pleasure at his attitude well hidden as she climbed out of the car and approached him. “It’s my usual day off, sir, you know that. What’s happened?”

He jerked the door open and hurried her inside. “The system’s down and the incompetent fools in the control room don’t have any idea why!”

“Don’t worry, Colonel.” She strode purposefully toward the monitoring room. “It’s probably another one of the problems we’ve seen before. I’ll do my best to have everything up and running in no time.”

She could hear him cracking his knuckles behind her as she moved to the command center. “I’ll just run a diagnostic and find out what the situation is.” The guy sitting there got up and let her have his chair. “However,” she said, “I’m afraid we can’t continue the experiments until I’ve gotten it sorted out.”

“How long?” Colby demanded.

She shrugged, not looking at him. “I have no idea, Colonel. But I’ll be as quick as I can.”

Without replying, Colby left the room in an audible huff.

*******

Starsky paced in between naps. Once in a while, he stood at the door of his cell and hollered Hutch’s name until his voice gave out. He didn’t bother giving the vents the ‘finger’ because he hoped those monitors were blank in the control room. He kept his smiles inside, in case anyone could see him, and imagined how great it was going to feel once he and Hutch were out of here!

*******

Hutch had never maintained lotus position for all his waking hours of four-going-on-five days but he was bound and determined to continue exhibiting calm self-possession for anyone who might still be watching. 

He could hear Starsky yelling at times and it gladdened his heart. _We’re going to get out of here, Starsk, then we’re going to take Colonel John C. Colby down!_

*******

Colby was standing at the head of the table when Delia entered the sparsely furnished conference room. The rest of the on-duty team was already seated and all were peering at her. 

Exuding a professional attitude, she took the only empty chair and opened her notebook. “I found the problem, Colonel. That last update the DOD sent us contained a virus. I’ve alerted them and they’re tracing it.”

“What does that mean, a virus?” Colby demanded.

Delia donned her instructor’s face. “It’s a type of software that’s designed to create difficulty in computer programs. This particular one was intended to cause a system-wide shutdown.”

“And the DOD sent it to us?” Colby’s tone promised severe consequences for whoever was responsible.

She raised a calming hand. “Not deliberately, sir. I’m sure they had no idea it was embedded in their data.”

“Then how --?”

“Colonel,” she interrupted, trying to sound informative, nothing more. “The more technology we invent, the more certain types of people will try to mess with it. I’m afraid, sir, that it’s going to become a fact of life. And as soon as someone comes up with a way to insert new glitches, we’ll just have to find new ways to counteract them.” 

She turned over a page and made a few scribbles. “In the case of our hardware, the motherboards have been corrupted and I’ll need to replace them as soon as possible.” She looked up. “Until then, I’ve walled off the damaged portions and begun a purge, wipe and reboot of the rest of the system, using secure files being sent to us from Washington.” She spread her hands in a gesture of frustration, hoping he wasn’t enough of a computer person to know she was spouting nonsense. “It’s going to take a while, Colonel.”

He began to pace the narrow room. “We can’t even see what’s going on in their cells!”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware of that,” she said. “I was coding a work-around before you called this meeting. We should have visuals again, hopefully by tomorrow.”

“They must have figured out their food was drugged,” Colby growled, “because they’re not drinking or eating.” He stopped at the head of the table again and glared at her. “I peeked through the windows on their cell doors. They’re both either asleep or pretending, and the soup and water are untouched.” He leaned toward her. “How long can they hold out?” 

When she didn’t answer right away, Nelson, one of the uniforms, said, “Not very long.” 

Delia nodded. “Nelson’s right, Colonel. In their weakened condition, and with all the times they’ve been rendered deeply unconscious, I’d estimate they can only live another day. Two at the most.”

Colby paced. 

Delia decided it was time to force the issue. “Colonel…” She waited until he stopped and stared at her. “I do believe you’ve learned something, even if you can’t continue with Starsky and Hutchinson.”

“And what would that be, Lieutenant Flannigan?” He sounded churlish but interested.

She looked him straight in the eye. “You’ve learned that some partnerships can’t be broken.”

A uniform came in without knocking and handed Colby a slip of paper. “Another message from Washington, sir. They insist on a copy of all our files to date. They’re threatening to send observers.”

Colby’s shoulders slumped. “Shit.”

The newcomer cleared his throat nervously. “Should I initiate the procedure for securing the next pair, Colonel?”

Plainly trying to come to terms with his disappointment, Colby nodded. “Yes. We’ll pick them up next week.” He refocused on Delia. “Will the equipment be ready by that time?”

She stood up, ramrod straight. “I’ll make sure it is, Colonel. If I can accompany Starsky and Hutchinson when you send them back to Bay City in the morning, Nelson can drive me up to L.A. afterward. I’ll procure new motherboards there.”

Nelson raised a hand. “Uh, Colonel?”

“What is it?” Colby snapped.

“Uh… sir… with the system down, how are we going to drug Starsky and Hutchinson so that Crandall and I can transport them?”

Colby turned to Delia. “That’s an excellent question.”

She thought quickly. “We have a manual override on the vents, sir. As soon as the van’s ready tomorrow, we’ll have to chance one last gassing with the memory erasure medication and hope they survive it.”

He nodded sharply, clearly anxious now to get Starsky and Hutchinson off the base. “See to it, Flannigan! If it wasn’t already too late today, I’d say take them now. But I suppose oh-dark-thirty will have to do.” Gathering his command attitude around him, he stalked out.

*******

Just prior to sunrise the next morning, Delia carefully measured a lower dose of the regular gas, without the additive, before she sent it through the two vents; she wanted her new friends to be unconscious only long enough to get them into the van and off the base. 

While Starsky and Hutchinson were being carried to the vehicle, Delia ducked into the communications room. 

The man on duty looked up, boredom in his expression before it turned into a sneer. “Whaddaya need… Lieutenant?”

Tired of the women-don’t-belong-in-the-military attitude this uniform had always given her, she used her most authoritative voice. “I need to leave a message at the L.A. office so that the hardware we require will be ready and waiting when we get there.”

He gestured nonchalantly toward the phone. “Be my guest, sweet cheeks.”

She walked to his side and stared at him until he looked up, insolence all over his weak-chinned face. “You don’t like me, Airman,” she said, iron in her voice, “and to tell you the truth, the feeling is mutual.” She waited until his self-assurance began to fade. “But you _will_ address me by rank and with sufficient respect in the future or I will file charges against you for every instance of insubordination I can think of. And believe me, _Airman_ , those charges will stick!” She jerked her head toward the door. “Now get out of here while I make my call.”

He got to his feet, sullen and sulky, and left the room.

She picked up the phone and quickly dialed Dobey’s home number. “It’s Flannigan, sir, we’re on our way to the industrial park.”

Dobey’s relieved voice came over the wire. “I’ll meet you there.”

When she got outside, Colby was watching the loading process with barely concealed rage and hate on his face. After a final look toward the van, he thrust two holstered weapons and identification wallets toward her. She had to shuffle the things she already carried, so as not to drop them.

Colby glared at the white paper bag she shifted, in order to take the new items. “You grabbed food from the cafeteria, Lieutenant?”

“Yes, sir, I did. Nelson and Crandall have eaten but I’ve been up all night, as you well know, coding work-arounds and trying to make sure the systems don’t implode before I get back with the new motherboards.”

Colby didn’t bother to acknowledge her all-nighter; he simply glared at her before storming into the building.

Delia quickly shoved the guns and folders into her satchel and stopped the guard before he could get in the back with the prisoners. “I’ll take this. I need to monitor their condition.” She gestured to the passenger door. “You ride up there with Nelson.”

With a shrug, the airman climbed in next to the driver. Delia settled on the jump seat between the bunks in the rear and slid the door closed. Checking the pulses of her charges, she let out a sigh. 

Once through the gate, she put a hand on Starsky’s right arm and Hutch’s left and whispered, “Wake up, guys. We’re off the base and on our way to Bay City.”

Hutch opened his eyes first, glanced around and let out a breath. “Do I take it correctly,” he asked, softly, “that we’ve escaped?”

Before she could answer, Starsky huffed. “That’s my buddy, Flannigan, always stating the obvious.” Grinning, he turned his head and bathed Hutchinson with a beatific smile. “I think, with this lady’s help, we’re one step closer to making Colby a very unhappy man!”

Carefully, so as not to give Nelson and the guard in front a clue that they were conscious, Starsky and Hutchinson sat up, slipped out of their jackets, donned their weapons, and pocketed their IDs.

As soon as they were fully clothed again, she opened the white paper bag, unwrapped a sandwich and handed half to Starsky and the other half to Hutchinson. “One was all I thought I could risk taking. And only one bottle of water, I’m afraid.”

Starsky beamed at her. “This is terrific!”

Both men seemed to savor each bite of the stale offering as they ate, and then shared the green bottle. 

When they were finished, she motioned to the bunks. “Get some sleep if you can. I’ll wake you before we get there.”

Starsky pouted. “Wish these stupid racks were wider, Hutch. I’m tired of sleepin’ alone!”

Delia felt herself blushing but neither of them noticed; Hutchinson’s gaze was fastened on his partner’s. “We’ll make up for it tonight. That’s a promise.”

*******

Peering through the small window in the bulkhead behind the front seats, Delia, with Hutchinson and Starsky leaning over her shoulders, watched as Nelson drove up to the front of the still-deserted-looking offices of the Division of Operational Cooperation. They saw Dobey hurry from the corner of the building and thrust the muzzle of his gun through the driver’s open window into Nelson’s left temple. “Get out of the vehicle! You’re under arrest!”

Nelson tried to look shocked and offended. “What for?”

“For the abduction and detention of two civilians,” Dobey replied, a harshness in his voice Delia hadn’t heard before. “That’s kidnapping in my book, but we’ll see what the Air Force has to say about your part in torture.”

“Torture? No!” Nelson protested. “Wait a minute --”

“Shut your mouth.” Dobey opened the door and yanked Nelson out. Other uniformed BCPD officers extracted Crandall from the passenger’s seat.

Delia slid the side door open and offered a hand to the still-unsteady Starsky and Hutchinson as they climbed out. “I like your captain,” she whispered.

The partners exchanged a look and smiled. “So do we,” Starsky said.

Dobey joined them. “Let’s get you two to a hospital.”

“No hospital,” they both said, simultaneously. 

“Food and water’s all we need, Captain,” Hutch added.

Starsky turned quickly, scanning the entire area. “Where’s my car?” He grabbed Dobey’s arm. “Where’s my car, Cap?”

Dobey raised his hand in what was obviously a placating gesture. “It’s at Metro, Starsky. I had it brought back as soon as Berthold and Cummings told me you two had been picked up.”

“Come on, guys,” Delia said. “Let’s get to wherever your captain wants you to go, so that he and I can fill in any blanks you still have.”

“No hospital!” Starsky repeated.

*******

In Dobey’s office, Starsky tried to eat his cafeteria sandwich slowly, so that his stomach wouldn’t rebel. He was on his third cup of water. He made sure his knee was touching Hutch’s leg and that contact reassured him that they were both finally safe.

After the detritus of lunch had been disposed of, Dobey studied Starsky and Hutch’s faces, possibly attempting to satisfy himself that they were, indeed, all right. “I’ve been on the phone with Washington, and the local DOD office, ever since Lieutenant Flannigan left yesterday. I threatened lots and lots of adverse publicity unless you were both returned immediately.”

“Thanks, Captain.” Hutch’s eyes said more than the words.

Starsky’s anger was melding into determination. “We need to get Colby off the base.” 

“Agreed.” Dobey looked at Flannigan. “Can you call him, Lieutenant?”

“Of course, Captain,” Delia replied. “But he wouldn’t like the idea of my using an unsecured line. He’d suspect something.”

“What about the radio in your truck?” Starsky suggested.

“Good idea, Starsk,” Hutch said. “I saw one in there when we were looking through the window, didn’t I, Lieutenant?”

Flannigan smiled. “Yes, you did.”

Starsky shared a quick, silent conversation with his partner before he turned to her. “Tell him Hutch and I are dead.”

Hutch nodded. “Tell him we were drugged once too often.”

“Tell him,” Starsky continued, making it up as he went along, “that the guys he sent with you won’t take your orders about what to do with our bodies.”

“He needs to get his ass down here!” Hutch shrugged. “Or words to that effect.”

“That’s a good idea!” Dobey lurched to his feet. “Let’s go do it!”

As they all trooped down to the garage, Starsky held Hutch back a little and lowered his voice. “Don’t let me lose it, Hutch, okay? ‘Cause after the last five days, I’m liable to grab the radio and tell that bastard what I think of him!”

Hutch threw his arm around Starsky’s shoulders. “We’ll hold each other back.” 

Starsky and Hutch stood to the side as Delia climbed in the front of the van and turned on the radio. “Base, this is Flannigan. Institute secure mode and put me through to the colonel.”

“Right away,” came back.

Within a minute, Colby’s voice roared from the speaker. “What is it now? You should have dropped them off an hour ago!”

“That’s just it, sir…” She glanced at Starsky, who was thinking her expression was sort of predatory. “They’re dead.”

“They’re _what?_ ” Colby’s voice went up an octave on the last word. “What the hell happened?” 

“One too many doses of gas and drugs would be my guess, sir.” Delia sounded so calm, Starsky had to smile. “They were both deceased when we got here.”

There was silence on the frequency for so long Starsky was afraid Colby had disconnected. When the voice finally came back, it was lowered, and laced with urgency. “Where are you?”

“At the drop-off site, sir,” she answered. “I’ve told Nelson and Crandall we need to ditch the bodies in the bay as soon as it gets dark but they won’t listen to me. They say this is way above their pay grade and they won’t do anything until you tell them, face to face.”

“I can’t --” Colby began.

“They won’t do what I say, Colonel,” she broke in. “And we can’t sit here too long with bodies in the back of the van. You have to get down here.”

“Let me talk to Nelson,” Colby growled.

“They saw a diner a block away, sir.” She looked at Starsky again and he gave her an encouraging nod. “They’ve gone there to eat and talk while I radioed you. Nelson said he’d do whatever you told him to but he wouldn’t do anything on my orders. I’m only a woman, after all - they don’t believe I have any authority over them. We’ve been going around and around about it ever since we arrived. I’m sorry to dump this on your shoulders, sir, but they won’t listen to me.” 

After another extended silence, they all heard Colby sigh. “I’ll be there in three hours.” The radio link clicked off.

Delia hung up the mic and looked at Dobey. “Will that give you enough time, Captain?”

Dobey was already headed for the stairway, Delia following, with Starsky and his partner bringing up the rear. 

“A three hour reprieve, Starsk,” Hutch said, sounding almost chipper.

“You think Dobey would let us grab a quick shower? Like Bronson said in The Great Escape, ‘I need a vash.’”

“A change of clothes would be very nice, too.” Hutch hurried into the hallway and hollered toward Dobey and Flannigan who were standing at the elevator. “Starsky and I’ll be up in a few minutes, Captain, after a detour to the locker room!”

“No hanky panky in there, you hear me?” Dobey followed Flannigan through the opening doors.

Starsky turned into the hallway that led to the locker room. “Sometimes I wish Dobey wasn’t quite so comfortable with our new status.”

“Really?” Hutch took his hand and swung it as if they were on a date. “I think it’s kinda cute.”

“I should probably keep that to myself.”

“Good idea.”

*******

A short time later, when Starsky ushered Hutch into Dobey’s office, their captain was on the phone. He was standing behind his desk, visibly keeping his fury under control. Flannigan was seated in the room’s third visitor’s chair.

“That’s what I said, Arthur! Both my detectives have been subjected to unbelievable torture for almost a week!… Yes, torture!…. You figure out what charges you’ll want to bring but only _after_ you get in touch with your people out here and get me some help…. I know, you’re taking my word for things, but as soon as you’ve heard what my detectives have to say, and someone’s inspected that… facility in the desert, you’ll know I’m not making any of this up.” He took a deep breath and listened.

“That’s a good idea, if you can arrange it in time,” Dobey continued after the man on the other end of the line apparently paused. “Air Force police and all the feds you can contact, waiting for Colby when he arrives will be a good thing. Here’s the address, 6161 Manufacturing Way in the South Bay City Industrial Park…. Your people out here will know where it is. My department’s already on its way!…. Thank you, Arthur, I’ll be in touch.”

After he hung up, he slumped into his chair. Starsky and Hutch, their hair still damp, and wearing spare clothes, dropped into the vacant two chairs. Starsky reached for Hutch’s hand and entwined the long fingers. Their bandages hadn’t needed replacing after their showers and Starsky traced the curved pink lines in the palm of the hand he held with his thumb. “Almost done, Hutch,” he whispered.

Dobey looked up, seemingly coming out of a fog. “You boys still say you don’t want to go to a hospital, is that right?”

Starsky didn’t even have to check with Hutch, he just nodded. “All Hutch and I want is to see John Colby taken into custody, and then go home.”

Dobey got to his feel. “Let’s go then. The sooner we get everybody in position, the sooner we can take care of the rest of that request.”

*******

Hutch didn’t ever remember being as nervous as he was. Officers of the BCPD, Air Force police, and flak-jacketed FBI agents were hidden all around the vacant DOD-DoOC building, leaving the parking lot in front empty, except for the Torino. Starsky had figured Colby might expect to see it there so he’d driven it down with Hutch, while Flannigan had ridden with Dobey. 

Starsky had backed Dobey’s plain wrap sedan inside the office through the delivery door and Hutch had rolled it almost completely down before he returned to the passenger seat. 

Dobey’s voice crackled over the radio and Hutch picked up the mic. “We’re here, Captain.”

“I don’t want to see either of you until we have Colby secured.” Dobey was attempting to sound gruff but his excitement came through loud and clear.

Hutch smothered a smile and his partner’s right hand gently squeezed the back of his neck. “Understood. We’ll wait right here.”

“Well… see that you do! I’ll holler when we’ve got him.” Dobey clicked off.

Hutch hung up the mic and, taking Starsky’s hand from behind his neck, he gripped it hard. “Do you really believe any of this, Starsk?”

“Oh, yeah.” Starsky took a deep breath. “We always knew Colby hated us - you more than me - but, yeah, I do. That kind of hatred can be the most destructive emotion in the world.”

Hutch sighed. “Well, this time, we’ll have to make sure he goes away for the rest of his miserable life.”

Starsky chuckled. “With all the federal and local charges Dobey and his friend, Arthur, are going to come up with, I don’t think even Major General J.P. Sinclair will be able to keep that from happening.” Another thought must have occurred to him because he turned. “I am a little concerned about the sixteen guys Colby messed with ahead of us.”

Hutch nodded. “So am I. But before we left the station, while you were in the men’s room, I heard Delia talking to someone I assume is her boss, and telling him the DOD needs to follow up on those guys. Make sure they’re fully apprised about what happened to them. And why. Bring their memories back regarding those missing days.”

Starsky squeezed his hand, both of them knowing nothing more needed to be said.

Outside, there was the sound of tires on pavement. A car door was opened and slammed. “Flannigan!” Colby’s voice hollered. “Where the hell are you?” 

Without waiting for Dobey’s summons, Hutch got out of the car and slid the big door far enough up to let Dobey’s sedan underneath. Starsky drove to the very nose of the gray government four-door and climbed out while Hutch moved to his side.

Colby could do nothing except stare at Hutch and his partner as uniforms of all variety surrounded him. Dobey stepped up, hauled Colby’s hands behind his back, cuffed him, and began reciting the Miranda warning.

No one moved while the familiar words were said and a stone-faced Colby refused to acknowledge that he understood his rights. _That’s okay,_ Hutch thought, _he’ll have to admit it at some point. Or his lawyers will._

As two uniformed officers took the colonel’s elbows, Hutch, with Starsky at his side, walked up to him. Hutch stared into the angry, cold eyes until Colby blinked and looked away. Hutch un-fisted his right hand and patted Colby’s cheek. “See you in court, John.”

“Monday morning, nine o’clock, my office!” Dobey was trying to sound stern but he was having a difficult time concealing his delight. “You can tell me everything before you start writing your reports.”

Starsky’s smile was wider than Hutch would have thought possible, under the circumstances. “You got it, Cap!”

Dobey nodded. “Arthur and I are going to spend the weekend deciding what charges this poor excuse for a human being…” he glared at Colby, “is going to face.”

“Sounds good, sir,” Hutch said. While the uniforms hustled Colby into the back seat of a squad car, Hutch turned to Flannigan. “What about you, Lieutenant?”

“I think I’ll just go back to the base in the colonel’s vehicle,” she answered, satisfaction in her expression. “I have enough authority to request that these Air Force police accompany me.” She gestured to two sergeants and they nodded. “When we get there, I’ll seal all files until my superiors arrive. And these gentlemen will make sure nobody leaves. I want each and every person on that base to answer for what they’ve done!”

Starsky held out his right hand. “Guess we’ll be seeing you later then, Lieutenant.”

She shook it. “You bet you will.”

Hutch took her hand and held it, meeting her dancing eyes. “Thank you.” Not wanting to embarrass her further, Hutch put his arm around Starsky’s shoulders and turned him back toward the Torino. “Let’s go home, Starsk.”

*******

Starsky was glad Hutch didn’t talk on the way; he hadn’t come to terms with everything yet himself. 

Once inside, with the front door locked behind them, and still without a word, Starsky shed his clothes on top of Hutch’s and followed his partner toward the bathroom.

Hot water coursed over his body and Starsky almost purred feeling Hutch’s large hands soaping and caressing; soft kisses banished any lingering pain in the numerous gouges on his arms.

When Hutch seemed to have satisfied his concern for Starsky’s cleanliness and injuries, Starsky returned the favor, being just as slow and careful as his partner had been. That is, until the hot water ran out.

Starsky turned the taps off and, laughing like a kid unexpectedly let out of school, he hustled Hutch out of the shower stall and wrapped a towel around him, rubbing limbs, torso and hair vigorously.

Afterward, Hutch returned the favor. 

With the towels hung up, Starsky locked eyes with the love of his life. “Know what I want right now?”

Every inch of Hutch’s skin flushed beautifully pink. “I think I can probably make a pretty good guess.”

Starsky simply looked more and more deeply into the sky-blues. “I want to hold you. I want to press my body to yours and hold you. Tighter than I ever have before.”

The slow smile that bloomed on Hutch’s beloved face took all Starsky’s anxiety away. 

“Then I suggest,” Hutch whispered, “that we adjourn to the next room where a very nice bed awaits.”

Starsky took Hutch’s hand and led him. “There’ll be time to talk about everything later, right?”

“All the time in the world, Starsk.”

“Good.” Starsky turned the covers back, crawled in and held his arms up and open. Hutch slid into them. “Holding right now. Then loving.”

“Then talking,” Hutch murmured, kissing his temple.

Starsky held on tight. “Works for me.”

END

**Author's Note:**

> If readers think I made up the horrors our guys were subjected to in this story, check out this web site: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Unethical_human_experimentation_in_the_United_States


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